Their bloodshot, sunken eyes watched in an agony of suspense as the drone of the plane beat harder and harder on their sensitive ears that were so long conditioned to silence.
Suddenly Nancy’s straining eyes recognized the insignia of her own Air Force, and she burst forth above the roar of the plane that was now almost overhead, “There’s our white star in the blue circle. It’s one of our planes!”
They began waving frantically as the plane circled high above them. The pilot was obviously taking no chances that this might be some trick of the Japs. From the burned color of their skins they could be mistaken for Japs from above.
Then Nancy thought of the American flag she always kept in her musette bag with the battered confederate relic. It was rather small, but surely bright enough to be distinguished from above. She was trembling like a leaf in a gale when she found it and waved it aloft. Almost immediately the plane dipped lower.
“Why, it’s a hydro!” burst forth Mabel.
The great ship sped south again dipping nearer the water. About a mile away she turned back, skimming above the waves until she settled down with a great splash and came gliding easily toward them. Then the broad wings were at rest and the motor silent.
A hearty voice from the plane called out, “Can you row closer?”
“We’ll try,” replied Nancy, but she feared her faint, cracked voice did not cover the distance between them.
The oars had not been touched since that horrible day when the men had died. Mabel found one under the seat. Two of them could scarcely handle it. They could as well have used toothpicks for all the movement their feeble efforts brought.
“We can’t make it!” wailed Nancy, and would have wept had her eyes not been too burned out for tears.